Amy Lowell

“ For beggars get only a beggar's crust, Wise men are reared in a different school." Then they clattered away in the dust and the wind, And the fool slunk back to his lonely stone; He began to see that the man who asks Must likewise give and not ask alone. Purple tree-shadows crept over the road, The level sun flung an orange light, And the fool laid his head on the hard, gray stone And wept as he realized advancing night. A great, round moon rose over a hill And the steady wind blew yet more cool ”

“ Round and round race the little girls After their great white hoops. Suddenly Minna stops. Her hoop wavers an instant, But she catches it up on her stick. "Listen, Stella!" Both the little girls are listening; And the scents of the garden rise up quietly about them. "It's the chaise! It's Father! Perhaps he's brought us a book from Boston." Twinkle, twinkle, the little criss-cross shoes Up the garden path. Blue—pink—an instant, against the syringa hedge. But the hoops, white as stripped willow-wands, Lie in the grass, And the grasshoppers jump back and forth Over them. ”

“ Smashed on the grate, the violin broke in two. "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" the clock kept striking on; But no one listened. Frau Altgelt had gone.
The Cross-Roads
A bullet through his heart at dawn. On the table a letter signed with a woman's name. A wind that goes howling round the house, and weeping as in shame. Cold November dawn peeping through the windows, cold dawn creeping over the floor, creeping up his cold legs, creeping over his cold body, creeping across his cold face. A glaze of thin yellow sunlight on the staring eyes. Wind howling through bent branches. A wind which never dies down. ”

“ The 'celli pizzicato-ed like great lutes, And mutterings of double basses trailed Away to silence, while loud harp-strings hailed Their thin, bright colours down in such a scatter They lost themselves amid the general clatter. Frau Altgelt in the gallery, alone, Felt lifted up into another world. Before her eyes a thousand candles shone In the great chandeliers. A maze of curled And powdered periwigs past her eyes swirled. She smelt the smoke of candles guttering, And caught the glint of jewelled fans fluttering All round her in the boxes. ”

“ The Chicago Tribune sent a reporter to the Little Theatre to hear Miss Lowell read and to record his impression of her work and personality for those who still peruse the newspapers. You may have seen the reporter’s article....
And still worse?... Lots of people have been splitting hairs over Amy Lowell’s work, but no human being has been heard to remark: “A beautiful thing is happening in America. Amy Lowell is writing poetry for us.” ”

“ Is no one loth To mock at duty—" Here they called for ale, And forced a pipe upon him. With an oath He shivered it to fragments on the earthen floor. 52 Sobered a little by his violence, And by the host who begged them to be still, Nor injure his good name, "Max, no offence," They blurted, "you may leave now if you will." "One moment, Max," said Franz. "We've gone too far. I ask your pardon for our foolish joke. It started in a wager ere you came. The talk somehow had fall'n on drugs, a jar I brought from China, herbs the natives smoke, Was with me, and I thought merely to play a game. ”

“ The versatility of Amy Lowell is so notable that it would be vain to predict the nature of her future production, or to attempt to set a limit to her range. In her latest and best book, Men Women, and Ghosts, besides the two admirable long narratives, we have poems of patriotism, outdoor lyrics, town eclogues, pictures of still life tragic pastorals in the manner of Susan Glaspell, and one delightful revenant, Nightmare, which takes us back to Dickens, for it is a verse comment on a picture by George Cruikshank. Her robust vitality is veined with humour ”

“ Will you watch over her? I ask a solemn vow." 17 Max laid his hand upon the old man's arm, "Before God, sir, I vow, when you are gone, So to protect your daughter from all harm As one man may." Thus sorrowful, forlorn, The situation to Max Breuck appeared, He gave his promise almost without thought, Nor looked to see a difficulty. "Bred Gently to watch a mother left alone; Bound by a dying father's wish, who feared The world's accustomed harshness when he should be dead; 18 Such was my case from youth, Mynheer Kurler. ”

“ The trees of the forest are masts, tall masts; They are swinging over Her and her lover. Almost swooning Under the ballooning canvas, She lies Looking up in his eyes As he bends farther over. Theodore, still her lover! The suds were dried upon Charlotta's hands, She leant against the table for support, Wholly forgotten. Theodore's eyes were brands Burning upon his music. He stopped short. Charlotta almost heard the sound of bands Snapping. She put one hand up to her heart, Her fingers touched the locket with a start. Herr Altgelt put his violin away Listlessly. ”

“ A loosened petal fluttered prone. "Man grows by eating, if you eat You will be filled with our life, sweet Will be our planet in your mouth. If not, I must parch in death's wide drouth Until I gain to where you are, And give you myself in whatever star May happen. O You Beloved of Me! Is it not ordered cleverly?" The Shadow, bloomed like a plum, and clear, Hung in the sunlight. It did not hear. Paul slipped away as the dusk began To dim the little shop. ”

“ In five years, then, from 1912 to 1917, she produced three books of original verse, two tall volumes of literary criticism, and a large number of magazine poems and essays—a remarkable record both in quantity and quality.
Vigour and versatility are the words that rise in one's mind when thinking of the poetry of Amy Lowell. It is absurd to class her as a disciple of free verse, or of imagism, or of polyphonic prose; she delights in trying her hand at all three of these styles of composition, for she is an experimentalist ”

“ Since Saxon days, these men had sought their brides Among the highest born, but always so, Taking them to themselves, their wealth, their lands, But never their titles. Stern perhaps, but strong, The Framptons fed their blood from richest streams, Scorning the common throng. Gazing upon these men, she understands The toughness of the web wrought from such strands And pride of Everard colours all her dreams. XXI Eunice forgets to eat, watching their faces Flickering in the wind-blown candle's shine. Blue-coated lackeys tiptoe to their places, And set out plates of fruit and jugs of wine. ”

“ A man was carrying a huge fan-shaped frame on his shoulder, and stuck in it were many little painted paper windmills, each one scurrying round in the breeze. They were bright and beautiful, and the sight was one to please anybody, and how much more a little boy who had only stupid, motionless toys to enjoy.
The little boy clapped his hands, and his eyes danced and whizzed, for the circling windmills made him dizzy. Closer and closer came the windmill man, and held up his big fan to the little boy in the window of the Ambassador's house. Only a pane of glass between the boy and the windmills. ”

“ Lotta smiled, He was as happy as a little child. From that day on, Herr Altgelt, more and more, Absorbed himself in work. Lotta at first Was patient and well-wishing. But it wore Upon her when two weeks had brought no burst Of loving from him. Then she feared the worst; That his short interest in her was a light Flared up an instant only in the night. 'Idomeneo' was the opera's name, A name that poor Charlotta learnt to hate. Herr Altgelt worked so hard he seldom came Home for his tea, and it was very late, Past midnight sometimes, when he knocked. ”

“ His constant encouragement and example were powerful formative influences in his sister's development. Another brother is the President of Harvard, Abbott Lawrence Lowell, through whose dignified, penetrating, sensible, authoritative speeches and writings breathes the old Massachusetts love of liberty.
Courage is a salient characteristic in Amy Lowell. She is afraid of nothing, not even of her birthday. ”

“ Up again, Orange and sparkling with sun, Rounding under the blue sky, Dropping, Fading to grey-green In the shadow of the coned hemlocks. "Ninety-one." "Ninety-two." "Ninety-three." The arms of the little girls Come up—and up— Precisely, Like mechanical toys. The battledores beat at nothing, And toss the dazzle of snow Off their parchment drums. "Ninety-four." Plat! "Ninety-five." Plat! Back and forth Goes the shuttlecock, Icicle-white, Leaping at the sharp-edged clouds, Overturning, Falling, Down, And down, Tinctured with pink From the upthrusting shine Of Oriental poppies. ”

“ Did the wind say, "Spruggins"? All Mr. Spruggins heard was "S-s-s-s-s—" Dying away down the street. He dropped the curtain and got into bed. Martha had been in the last thing with the warming-pan; The bed was warm, And Mr. Spruggins sank into feathers, With the familiar ticking of his watch just under his head. Mr. Spruggins dozed. He had forgotten to put out the candle, But it did not make much difference as the fire was so bright... Too bright! The red and yellow roses pricked his eyelids, They scorched him back to consciousness. He tried to shift his position; He could not move. ”

“ Straight, in the Spring moonlight, Rises the deflowered arch. In the silence, shining bright, She stands naked and unsubdued. Her marble coldness will endure the march Of decades. Rend her bronzes, hammers; Cast down her inscriptions. She is unconquerable, austere, Cold as the moon that swims above her When the nights are clear. IV Croissy, Ile-de-France, June, 1815 "Whoa! Victorine. Devil take the mare! I've never seen so vicious a beast. She kicked Jules the last time she was here, He's been lame ever since, poor chap." Rap! Tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap! Tap! ”

“ Of the poets who to-day are doing the interesting and original work, there is no more striking and unique figure than Amy Lowell. The foremost American member of the "Imagists"—a group of poets that includes William Butler Yeats, Ezra Pound, Ford Madox Hueffer—she has won wide recognition for her writing in new and free forms of poetical expression. ”

“ There are people in the world who like poetry if they know the poet. There are a good many people in Chicago just now who understand and enjoy Amy Lowell’s poetry because she read it to them at the Little Theatre.
I know a poet who could make nothing of Vachel Lindsay’s things until Lindsay chanted them to him one day. And I know another who said to me, when I remarked that I didn’t like Alfred Kreymborg’s verse, “Oh, but you would if you knew him.” I am puzzled, because I know this man to be an intelligent being. ”

“ Oh, Francois, see How kindly the moon shines down on me! I can't die yet, For the task was set." "You won't die now, for I've sucked it away," Grumbled old Francois, "so have your play. If the Virgin is set on snake's colours so strong,—" "Francois, don't say things like that, it is wrong." So Clotilde vented Her creed. He repented. "He can't do no more harm, Sister," said he. "Paint as much as you like." And gingerly He picked up the snake with his stick. Clotilde Thanked him, and begged that he would shield Her secret, though itching To talk in the kitchen. ”

“ Along the street She watched his buttons gleaming in the moon. He stopped to wave and turned the garden wall. Straight she sank down upon a mossy seat. Her senses, mist-encircled by a swoon, Swayed to unconsciousness beneath its wreathing pall. 47 Briskly Max walked beside the still canal. His step was firm with purpose. Not a jot He feared this meeting, nor the rancorous gall Grootver would spit on him who marred his plot. He dreaded no man, since he could protect Christine. His wife! He stopped and laughed aloud. His starved life had not fitted him for joy. ”

“ A topgallant breeze pushes them rapidly over the white-specked water. One, two, six, ten, thirteen separate tiered clouds, and the wind sings loud in their shrouds and spars. The royals are furled, but the topgallantsails and topsails are full and straining. Thirteen white thunderheads bearing down on Aboukir Bay.
The Admiral is working the stump of his right arm; do not cross his hawse, I advise you.
"Youngster to the mast-head. What! Going without your glass, and be damned to you! Let me know what you see, immediately."
"The enemy fleet, Sir, at anchor in the bay." ”

“ Then Grootver came Demanding Jufvrouw Kurler. His trespass Was justified, for he had won the game. Christine begged time, more time! Midsummer went, And Grootver waxed impatient. Still the ship Tarried. Christine, betrayed and weary, sank To dreadful terrors. One day, crazed, she sent For Max. "Come quickly," said her note, "I skip The worst distress until we meet. The world is blank." 39 Through the long sunshine of late afternoon Max went to her. ”

“ We'll tell fortunes. That's what we'll do." Plump down in the meadow grass, Stella and Minna, With their round yellow hats, Like cheeses, Beside them. Drop, Drop, Daisy petals. "One I love, Two I love, Three I love I say..." The ground is peppered with daisy petals, And the little girls nibble the golden centres, And play it is cake. A bell rings. Dinner-time; And after dinner there are lessons.
1777 I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight. They bray and blare at the burning sky. Red! Red! ”